


it has been saved, but not for me

by milkyway_starboy



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Gen, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-30
Updated: 2020-10-30
Packaged: 2021-03-08 17:15:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27280312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/milkyway_starboy/pseuds/milkyway_starboy
Summary: frodo baggins isn't allowed to keep the things and people that he loves. or at least, that's what he believes.
Relationships: Frodo Baggins/Sam Gamgee, Rose Cotton/Sam Gamgee, other minor background mentioned ships
Comments: 1
Kudos: 27





	it has been saved, but not for me

**Author's Note:**

> i watched the movies for the umpteenth time and as usual had feelings. angsty build up to a happy ending (the working title was "hobbits are polyamorous but make it angsty first")

he doesn't get to keep things. frodo's known that his whole life. his mother and father were taken from him when he was young, and his happiness at brandy hall was taken too when bilbo took him as his heir. yes, he came to love bilbo like a father, and had many happy years with him; but then he'd left too. and now frodo has to give up the shire… 

frodo sits in his customary chair next to the fire, bilbo's chair empty and a heaviness in his chest. his thoughts move to sam - his loyal sam, his closest friend. twelve years may separate them in age but it didn't make a difference to frodo. at sam's thirty-third birthday (of course hosted and paid for by mr. baggins himself, nothing less for his favored gardener), he'd noticed that sam spent most of the party dancing with rosie cotton. she was beautiful, there was no question about it - but something had tightened in frodo’s chest at the thought. would he lose his sam, too?

… it seems not. frodo wakes in the too-big bed in the last homely house, healed and sheltered by elrond, and is nearly surprised to see sam there, curled up on the bed next to him. sam’s holding frodo’s left hand gently, even in his sleep stroking the back of it. “sam,” he murmurs, bringing his other hand over to run his fingers through sam’s blond curls. he freezes when the other hobbit actually stirs, not having expected to wake him and be caught in such tenderness. but frodo is saved by the grogginess of his gardener, and removes his hand while sam blinks sleep from his eyes. he can keep sam, for a while longer.

gandalf falls. frodo screams into the echoing cavern of khazad-dum and would have followed the wizard to the pit, if not for boromir. and then later, the ring takes boromir, corrupts his mind and turns friend to foe. frodo runs, falls, says goodbye to aragorn, and runs again, and then… he stands on the beach holding the ring, and tears fall as he considers. he has lost too many already, but… 

he could not ask it of sam to come with him. he would not ask it of  _ anyone _ , much less the one he loved most. frodo knows in his heart he goes to ruin and to the end of himself - he knows that, in the end, he will not even be allowed to keep his own life. the quest will end him. and so he gets in the boat, pushes off from shore, ignores the rustling of brush behind him. his eyes are set on the eastern shore as loose pebbles skitter under hobbit feet, and sam calls out to him. it’s not until there’s splashing behind him that frodo turns, eyes wide as his sam begins to sink beneath the water. no, he can’t lose sam like  _ this. _

frodo pulls sam into the boat, steadying him with hands on wet shoulders and tears in his eyes. “i made a promise, mr. frodo,” sam sputters, water still streaming from his hair. “a  _ promise _ . ‘don’t you leave him, samwise gamgee.’ and i don’t mean to. i don’t mean to.” the words freeze frodo in place, before tears fall and he hugs sam, allowing himself a sliver of hope that maybe… maybe sam loves him in the same way.

the ring works its dark magics. it poisons the mind of frodo, and his face twists in sorrow and betrayal as he watches gollum brush crumbs from sam’s shirt. “go home, sam,” he mutters, brow drawn and heart aching.  _ you should have let him drown _ , the ring murmurs in his mind.  _ you would not have had to lose him in such a way as this, to lose him through betrayal of his own volition. better to have believed him true of heart, than suffer this. _ and frodo is passive, focusing on hand over hand, gripping rock and climbing for his life. sam must not have truly loved him. he doesn’t look back.

sam, for his part, collapses in his spot and sobs. frodo left him so easily… believed the lies of gollum so readily. had sam been mistaken in his beliefs about frodo’s feelings for him? after some time, sam gathers himself and turns to go, uncaring and reckless on the descent as he hadn’t been earlier. too reckless - he slips and falls face-first into the lembas that gollum claimed sam ate. rage filled him then; why had he let gollum take frodo from him? sam gets back on his feet and climbs again, strength renewed in his vigor to get to frodo, to keep him safe again.

lava bubbles far beneath frodo’s dangling feet, the shape of gollum rapidly disintegrating in the liquid. the ring resists, resting on top, but frodo’s focus is not on it - one hand grips the rock above him, and his thoughts race. he would die here, wouldn’t he? and then a face appears over the edge of the cliff - sam. dear, dear sam. “give me your hand!” he shouts, and frodo hesitates before reaching up. their hands slap together but miss, and his heart lurches in his chest for a moment. it’d be so easy to let go… he can feel the call of the ring as it slips under the lava. wouldn’t the release of death be a fitting end for the ring-bearer, too?

and then the ring is gone, consumed, destroyed, and it’s as if a fog lifts from frodo’s mind. “don’t you let go,” sam says above him, hand still extended towards him. “reach!” sam’s here - he has to keep sam. he can’t let sam go, not after everything. a new kind of determination fills him and he reaches up, gripping sam’s hand. the raw end of his finger presses against sam and it hurts but he’s  _ alive _ and sam is here, and maybe… maybe he can keep him here, to stay. for good.

frodo leans on sam as they run from the cracks of doom, up onto a safe outcropping - safe at least from the lava, but not from the heat. frodo can feel his skin blistering and cracking, sweat evaporating as soon as it forms. his mouth and throat are dry as a desert, and every inch of him hurts with the woes of a thousand lifetimes. but… he’s here, with sam. he collapses onto his back, breathing deep despite the way it makes his lungs burn. his eyes close and he can see the shire, bag end, the river through the copse behind his home. sam speaks next to him, as if replying, and frodo realizes he’s been mumbling.

“rosie cotton dancing,” sam says softly, and frodo opens his eyes to look at him. “she had ribbons in her hair. if ever i was to marry someone, it would’ve been her.” the gardener begins to cry, and frodo sits up. “it would’ve been her.” despite the ache in his chest, unrelated to the heat and ash and journey, frodo reaches over and pulls sam to him. his arms wrap around his companion and dearest friend - his love.

“i’m glad you’re with me, samwise gamgee,” is his response. “here at the end of all things.” his eyes close as sam sobs, and in those moments before unconsciousness takes him, frodo reconciles within himself that sam was never his to keep.

sunlight wakes him, and once again he’s in a too-big bed in an unfamiliar room. his wounds are bandaged, and his hand goes to his neck on reflex before he remembers - it’s gone. frodo lays back on the pillow and that’s when he notices… gandalf? “ _ gandalf, _ ” he breathes. the wizard nods, a smile forming on his face, and out of sheer disbelief and joy, frodo begins to laugh. the sound draws merry and pippin, and their antics draw the rest - gimli, legolas, and aragorn each walk through the door to his room. sam is last, standing in the doorway and watching. frodo’s gaze catches his, and they share a moment, through everything.

it’s in the early hours of the next morning that a nightmare sends frodo tumbling from the bed. the sheets are wrapped around his sweaty form and he’s scrambling to get free of them when hands land on his shoulders. for a moment he fights them, crying out to get away; then a familiar, soft voice cuts through: “it’s alright, mr. frodo. it’s just me. it’s your sam.” sam.  _ his _ sam. frodo goes limp, and gentle, patient hands unwind the sheets and toss them back on the bed, then brush his damp hair back from his forehead.

“it was only a nightmare,” sam says, brown eyes as soft as ever in the moonlight. “you’re safe, it’s gone.” frodo doesn’t answer, just breathes as his hands move to hold onto sam’s forearms. “c’mon, let’s get you back into bed.” he lets sam move him, lift him - heavens, when had he become so light? or had sam always been this strong? the gardener lays him down gently, and smooths the sheets and blankets back around him, and then he… takes a seat in the chair by the bedside table. frodo stares at the ceiling for a moment, before turning to look at him.

“sam?”

“yes, mr. frodo?”

he stumbles for a moment on words, then manages, “will you sleep beside me? i’m afraid this bed is too big for comfort.”

maybe he imagines the ghost of the smile on sam’s face; maybe it’s the moonlight. but sam nods and climbs into the bed, stroking frodo’s hair gently. “get some rest. i’m not going anywhere.”

and sam doesn’t. he’s by frodo’s side throughout the following days - healing, resting, catching up with the rest of the fellowship to get their stories, taking long walks in the gardens of minas tirith. frodo is content to listen to sam talk about the plants there, which ones he wants to take home and grow in his own garden. these moments are good, and frodo tries to ignore how often sam mentions rosie and how she’d love these flowers, wouldn’t she mr. frodo?

then they’re home. turns out frodo gets to keep bag end - sure, work needs to be done, the shire had its own problems while he and the others were gone, but it’s his. home.

what is home without a family to fill it, though? frodo’s heart aches as sam spends equal time with rosie as with him, but he smiles when sam tells him of the proposal, and of course he’ll be the best man. of course they can name a child after him, when the time comes. frodo learns to be content with what parts of sam he gets to keep - the quiet moments by the fire on a chill winter’s night, sitting in the sun on a bench as sam gardens. that’s his, and he clings to it.

but he cannot cling for long. years pass. frodo sits at his desk in the study and writes the title of his story:  _ the lord of the rings _ . his shoulder twinges and he presses his thumb into the old scar to appease the pain. sam’s voice rings out behind him, “mr. frodo? what is it?”

“it’s been four years to the day since weathertop,” frodo says, looking up at sam. “it’s never fully healed.”

sam nods, then looks at the book. “you finished it.” he reads off the titles, and frodo shakes his head.

“not quite. there’s room for a little more.” he closes the book, but the motion disrupts the letter that he’d hidden in the front. the paper falls to the floor, stark letters in his handwriting that read  _ samwise gamgee _ on the folded back, and sam’s the first to reach it.

“‘my dear sam,’” the gardener reads. “‘you cannot always be torn in two. you will have to be one and whole for many years. you have so much to enjoy and to be and to do. your part in the story will go on.’” sam looks at the letter for a moment, and then turns his gaze back to frodo. “what is this, mr. frodo?” the tone of his voice suggests he already knows, but nonetheless must still ask.

“i’m going to the havens, sam, to take a boat with bilbo and the others. i have tried to stay, to enjoy the shire and all it offers. but often it must be so, that one person gives up something, so that all others can continue to keep it. i don’t get to keep the shire, sam - i don’t get to keep anything.” frodo’s eyes are sad and soft and he’s worried sam won’t understand.

sam shakes his head. “often, but not always, mr. frodo. maybe the shire isn’t the same to your eyes, now, after everything - but you haven’t lost it. and you certainly haven’t lost me.”

“oh sam.” frodo’s voice is soft as he takes his companion’s hand and brushes his thumb over the ring on the fourth finger of his left hand. “i already have.”

there’s a moment of silence, and then sam laughs once, twice, incredulous and wide-eyed. frodo frowns, brows drawn together. “begging your pardon, mr. frodo,” sam finally says, wiping tears from his eyes. “but for all your smarts, you are the most thick-headed of hobbits i have ever known, and that’s saying something, since peregrin took is our friend.” the gardener takes a breath, and then kneels down, setting the letter on the desk in favor of taking both of frodo’s hands in his. “you never lost me. i have always been here, by your side, waiting for you to notice and realize. yes, i love rosie, but frodo… i have known and loved you longer. no one would be surprised were you to have me move in, with rosie in tow. after all, this home is large enough, there should be a family to fill it.”

“what?” frodo tries to understand what sam has said, and then he realizes. “you love me. you want to share your family with me.” despite everything. “i…”

“yes. yes, frodo,  _ yes _ .” sam’s voice is earnest. “stay. keep the shire or don’t, but  _ stay _ here, with me. keep me. keep your home, and keep your hope.”

frodo is quiet, contemplative. sam’s eyes shine and he’s reminded of the way the moonlight had shone in them that night in minas tirith. “alright,” he says finally. “sam. i’ll stay.” a small, nearly incredulous smile crosses his face. “i’m going to kiss you.”

“please.” sam laughs into the kiss, lips pressed to frodo’s. he can keep this - he can keep his sam.

some more years pass. six children fill the halls of bag end, with a seventh on the way. frodo spends a great deal of time traveling; the weight of his experiences still presses down on him, and getting out on the road is the only thing that seems to ease it. sometimes sam goes with him, but more and more often now he’s on his own, as sam becomes mayor and takes on the mantle of responsibility.

he stands at the edge of rauros, remembering boromir. he looks over the pelennor fields and thinks of all who died to keep sauron’s gaze away from mount doom. but also he speaks long with faramir, processing his hurt and his burden, and in the evenings joins him for meals with eowyn and their child. he tells stories in elvish to little eldarion, son of aragorn and arwen, and goes to ithilien to visit legolas. frodo visits helms deep and speaks to gimli about the rock and crystal caverns, pays his dues to the dwarves that bilbo had known, and then makes his way to edoras to see eomer and the horse-lords. merry and pippin sometimes accompany him too, or he runs into them on his travels, since they keep their ties to rohan and gondor respectively.

but always frodo returns, walking up the hill to bag end. there’s a portrait of bilbo over the fireplace in the study, and plants from everywhere in the garden. the things he keeps, to remember. and it is good.

**Author's Note:**

> kudos and comments fill me with joy!!! thanks for reading <3


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